Draco couldn't move at first. His face was still numb from the firewhiskey, but his sight snapped into clear focus as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Greengrass is here. Greengrass is here.
"Draco?" Pansy asked uncertainly.
The colour drained from his face, leaving him bone-white. He couldn't decide if he wanted to spring into action and run to her immediately, or stay here and hide until she left. His chest ached, searing with pain, and he could take it no longer.
He sprung up quickly, smacking his head on the underside of the pantry shelves with a crack. The burning, bruising feeling ripped through his skull as he swore and muttered every curse he could think of. He clutched a hand to the area. Though throbbing, the skin had not broken and no blood dripped free. He wiped fresh tears of pain away furiously on his sleeves.
"Am I interrupting something?"
To make it worse, the new voice in the room was not the familiar, melodic sound he'd been hoping to hear. He blinked, the water of his eyes clearing, to see Daphne.
"It Tori with you?" he blurted, not caring to stop or think.
"No," she said carefully, her gaze drifting between him and Pansy.
Draco took in Pansy's wide eyes, the way her mouth turned down at the corners. Clearly, she'd gotten the wrong idea, and believed Daphne to be the Greengrass Draco was losing sleep over. Some irrational part of him yearned to prove she was wrong, to explain, but what was the point?
"I'll leave then," Pansy said in a measured voice.
"I'll come see you soon," Daphne promised, rubbing a reassuring hand against her old friend's arm.
Pansy flinched away as she left. Daphne's eyebrows knotted together in confusion. He couldn't be bothered explaining, he decided. The firewhiskey and potential concussion were jumbling his thoughts enough already.
"What do you want?" he asked glumly. Disappointed that his elation for Tori had been so cruelly broken.
"I didn't expect you would move on so quickly." Her voice was cold.
"I haven't," he spat. "Not at all."
"That's not what it looked like."
"For fuck's sake, Daphne. We were actually talking about Astoria, if you must know."
She softened. "Saying what?"
"It doesn't matter. Why are you here?"
Daphne sat in the spot Pansy had just vacated, a little more awkward in the movement, given that she was sober.
"Nott invited me to come see your new place," she said. "Impressive, even for you."
The throbbing continued on the crown of Draco's head. He repaired the shattered glass by his feet, then cast about, hoping for a forgotten bottle of healing potion that he knew wouldn't be there.
"But I was already looking for you," Daphne confessed. "Because, well, because of Tori."
"Here to chew me out?" Draco asked bitterly. "Because she ended things. Not me."
"From what I could make out, things never truly started," she fired back. "Because of you."
"You think I don't regret that now?" Draco hissed. "All that fucking time I spent hoping she'd stay away from me, realise I'm no good for her. Hoping she'd realise she could do better. And the minute I decide I don't fucking care anymore, she decides to piece it all together."
Daphne's forehead creased in confusion. "What are you on about?"
"My best guess is the attack really put it into perspective." He stared at his knees, finally sifting through the thoughts he'd denied for so long. "Something about it changed her. Made her realise."
Daphne thought for a moment. "Did she actually say those words to you?"
"She didn't need to."
Daphne took a deep, shuddering breath. The movement reminded Draco of Tori, right before she would do something brave.
"Draco, I need to ask a favour of you. A huge favour. Ordinarily I wouldn't dare, but…"
He frowned. "What is it?"
"Tori needs treatment." The words spilled from her. "She's really quite ill, and there's only one healer who can help, and our parents decided to cut off all access to our fucking vaults, and it's just, well, I know you care about her. I had to ask. I… I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."
The words bounced around Draco's brain, still inebriated. "What?"
Tears filled her eyes, visible even in the dim light of the pantry. "Tori's ill. She… she hasn't got long to live."
These words, short and succinct, slammed into Draco like a steel wall. It felt like oxygen had left the air, for though he sucked into his lungs, still he suffocated.
"A blood curse," Daphne continued in a whisper. "Malediction, they're calling it. It's killing her. She's got a year, if she's lucky." She looked to him with big, pleading eyes, so different from her sister's. "There's a healer here in France. He might be able to treat her, to give her more time… but my mother's withdrawn every galleon and sickle in our vaults. Now, Tori's just waiting to die."
No. No… Draco pressed his knuckles to his face, hoping if he pushed hard enough he would wake up, and this would all have been a fever dream from the firewhiskey. Daphne's words couldn't be true. They just couldn't. The pain spread through his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, until he thought it might rip him in two.
"That's why Tori ended things, Draco. That's why she wouldn't…" Daphne took a deep breath. "You have every right to refuse. Nine hundred galleons — it's a lot to ask, too much of a friend. But if you still care for Tori, maybe…"
"Take it." His voice was a husky whisper, escaping through the gaps between fingers. "Take the nine hundred. Take whatever you need. I'll have you added to my vault."
She eyed him hesitantly. "Are you sure?"
"I've got to see her." He scrambled to his feet, careful to dodge the shelves this time. "I have to see her."
"Draco, no," Daphne pleaded, tugging at his arm. "She'd never forgive me for telling you, and she'd never accept your gold!"
"She won't have a fucking choice," Draco growled, fastening his cuffs.
"Let her heal!" Daphne carried on, her grip like a vice. "When she has more time, she'll come back to you, I know it. I'm sure of it."
"You think I care about that?" Draco loomed over Daphne, seething in anger. "You think I want her to waste the rest of her life on me? Not a fucking chance."
"I'm going to be hard pushed making her believe the gold's mine as it is," Daphne hissed. "If you want her to have any life left to bloody waste, you stay out of it until she comes to you."
His words became vicious then. "I've kept your secret. Your muggle secret." Daphne blanched as he spoke. "I haven't told a single fucking person you're a blood traitor. What more do you want from me, Daphne? You fucking owe me."
"That's low Draco," she said quietly. "Even for you."
"Fuck this." His wand sparked dangerously. "Fuck this!"
Daphne drew her own wand. He eyed it warily, aware she had the advantage of sobriety. Faster reflexes.
"I will curse you," she threatened. "I'll have you bound in ropes in the corner of this stupid cupboard if I have to. Stay the hell away from her."
"Alright, fine!" Draco roared. "Happy?"
Before he could find out, Pansy was back, swinging the door open to see them both still in a duelling stance.
"I think we're winding down for the night," she said. "There's a spare room if you're staying, Daphne?"
Her tone made it perfectly clear she hoped Daphne would refuse.
"No," Daphne said, causing a smug grin to plaster across Pansy's face. "I'll be going."
She at least had the grace to blush as she pulled parchment from her pocket, summoning a quill and handing both to Draco.
"A request form," she mumbled.
Draco barely glanced at the text as he signed. A new numbness spread through him, one that had little to do with the liquor. He still struggled to process everything Daphne had told him. Jumbled thoughts arrived in his mind and then disappeared like wisps of smoke, to be replaced with more just as nonsensical. Go to Tori. Stay away. Help her. Help her by leaving her the fuck alone.
"I mean it Daphne," he said, his voice hollow. "Take all you need."
She slipped quietly from the room without answering. Pansy folded her arms across her chest, glowering.
"Is she extorting you?"
"What?" Draco dragged his eyes to meet hers. "Of course not."
"That's how it looks." She sighed. "I lied. Nott's probably going to keep us all going until dawn. I just thought you needed an out."
Draco stayed silent. What could he say, that he appreciated the interruption? That the love of his life was dying? He felt no internal battle at those words. Not any longer. They were simply fact, at this stage.
Things snapped into crystal clear certainty. Tori had been made for him, just as the sun had been made for the earth. But he'd imploded, eroded, and deteriorated before he'd even felt the warm rays. From his father, to their friends, to fucking Voldemort himself — they'd been closer stars, and they'd been black holes of destruction. And at this stage, if he pursued her, he'd only be entrapping her in the pull, too. They would collapse as one supernova.
It had always been cruel to condemn her to such a fate. From that first night, at the house that eventually became his for such a short time, he'd known. And now, as though letting the subconscious implications of his realisations guide him, he found himself searching for Nott. Searching for the small vial that could condense these feelings, so they were no longer too big to feel.
Once more, he tipped the contents of Euphoria into his mouth, and closed his eyes.
Somebody was slapping him awake.
"Come on, Malfoy, let's fucking go."
He frowned, clinging to the safe blackness. If he opened his eyes, he'd remember.
"We need you! Stop being a prat. Wake the fuck up."
Of course it was Nott. But Zabini was there too, and Parkinson, all bent over him lying in his bed. For a moment he wondered if he'd died.
"What time is it?" he mumbled.
"It's three in the morning, but if we don't get there soon, it'll be too late."
Draco grasped his wand, small details returning to him as he dressed. Fuck's sake. They'd made the deal last night — only a few hours ago, really. The Slytherin march in Diagon Alley. The death eater march.
"Is this a good idea?" he asked, still half asleep and half high. His head felt light and airy, his feet soft on the ground.
"Don't pull out on us now!" Nott hissed. "We need you!"
"Why?"
Zabini rolled his eyes. "You're the one who fucking suggested it, mate. If we get caught, your parents are our indemnity."
"We told you not to sleep, now look at you."
"Don't expect him to remember," Pansy said, voice dripping with contempt as they left the chateau. "He's still recovering from his tiff with Daphne."
Zabini shot a curious glance. Draco gave a pointed look — not now.
"We shouldn't disapparate under the influence." It was one last feeble attempt on Draco's part to pull out.
"We go in pairs," Nott said. "Zabini and me, you and Parkinson. Let's go."
The other pair disappeared with a crack. Pansy held out her arm, and Draco took it gingerly. He could see no further way out of this.
"The Carrows?" His final bid.
"Hiding away crying somewhere about the state of their lives."
Pansy clutched his arm and they turned.
They materialised in the middle of a crowd of black hoods. Somebody was beating a deep bass drum, barely audible over the hollers and shouting. Witches and wizards, all with covered faces, were blasting apart buildings, setting fire to the street. Nott and Zabini were nowhere to be seen.
"Fuck this!" Draco shouted, ready to disapparate away.
"We need to find them!" Pansy insisted. "It might be calmer further up."
It was hell to move even a metre, with the mass of people pushing from all sides. They tightened, compressing Draco's chest so it became difficult to breathe. Pansy yelped as she was shoved into him, but still they pushed on, fighting to clear a path. Sparks and spells ricocheted all around, and the pitch black night was lit only in green flames.
"We're not getting through," Draco yelled, the wall of people now too thick to penetrate. "Let's go back, they'll probably do the same."
"We're supposed to be joining forces!" Pansy tried to protest.
"The only thing we're joining here is the bodies lying in fucking graves! Let's go!"
They grasped one another once more, and Draco wrenched his body around as far as he could, closing his eyes and concentrating on his new place in France.
Nothing happened.
Shocked, he tried again, pushing harder. Pansy did the same beside him, spinning on the spot with her eyes clenched shut.
"Why can't we disapparate?" Draco demanded.
His question was answered by the arrival of broomsticks zipping through the night sky, and the announcement of a magnified voice.
"Remain exactly where you are. You are each being brought in for questioning regarding illicit activities."
People instantly lost their minds, all spinning on the spot just as Draco and Pansy had. All without success.
"A dis-apparition ban has been put in place. Any further action will result in prosecution."
Ministry wizards dropped into the crowd. Flashes of red and green light erupted like explosions, mingled with screams of terror and anger. Draco wrapped a protective arm around Pansy, brandishing his wand and fighting to remain standing against the crowd. He searched for a way out of their predicament.
With a flash of red, his wand flew from his hand. Draco swore loudly, fighting to reach it, when a ministry official tied his hands in black ropes with a flick of his wand.
"A Malfoy, eh?" he snarled nastily.
"Leave him alone!" Pansy shrieked.
Gasps of pain left Draco as he strained against the ropes, bound so tight it felt they were slicing him open at the wrists.
"You're coming in with me."